


Collision

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically just a massive mash up of fandoms - I know not the most original. </p><p>DISCLAIMER I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR PLACES IN THIS FIC CREDIT TO JK ROWLING (all hail); SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE & THE CREATORS OF BBC SHERLOK; AND THE CREATORS OF MARVEL (COMICS AND FILMS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

 

Ronald Weasley hated Harry Potter. Well, no, he didn’t really hate him, but at that exact moment that’s what it felt like. The three of them were sitting in the main hall, “studying”. Ron was across from his best friend and Hermione Granger. He supposed she was also one of his best friends but he hated to refer to her as that. Because in truth, he wanted it to be so much more than friendship. He was in love with Hermione Granger, and that was the precise reason that Ron felt so much hate towards the skinny boy sitting across from him. The two of them weren’t technically dating, but they might as well have been. Harry had his arm slung lazily around Hermione, whilst he played with her hair and she giggled, pushing him away, but not in an annoyed way, in a flirty, playful one. He watched as Potter caught Seamus’ eye from across the table. The Irish boy looked from Harry to Hermione, and back to Harry, giving him a cheeky smile and a thumbs up. Harry just rolled his eyes, but you could tell he enjoyed the attention, the bastard. The sudden urge to kick his best friend under the table became overwhelming, but he resisted, more to keep Hermione’s respect than Harry’s. No, if he was going to get Hermione to feel the same way about him, he was going to need a game plan. But what?

. . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy hated Hermione Granger. Well, of course he hated her, for being a filthy mud blood, and a swat and a complete and utter know it all, but to be perfectly honest, none of that really mattered to him anymore. He had put those childish values and expectations below him now, in fact he had done that a long time ago, but it was something else that made him boil with fury every time he saw Granger’s face. But nobody could know. Ever.

It had all started in the fourth year when Draco lost his virginity to Pansy Parkinson. To be honest, he had only done it because of peer pressure, from Blaise mostly, and he wasn’t attracted in the slightest to the pug-faced girl. It had been quick and sloppy and not fun at all. The blond boy had thought that this was all down to his lack of attraction, and weren’t all people’s first times bad? And then his second time came, and third and fourth and fifth. Sure, he knew what he was doing those times, and managed to pleasure the girls enough to keep up his reputation as the school sex god, but his heart was never really in it, and he deep down knew why.

Draco Malfoy was gay. He couldn’t deny it, although he had tried to. He had tried to talk himself out of it, thinking it was just a phase, but when his, er… crush had lasted for more than half a year, he realised it was more serious than that. 

And that crush, which was now more than a crush to be frank, was the very reason that he was so pissed off with Hermione. He glared over at the three of them, Ron sitting across from Granger, that bitch, was laughing, putting her hand on Harry’s knee. Harry’s arm was round her shoulders, his Harry’s arm that should have been round his shoulders. A low possessive growl escaped his mouth, and he looked worriedly at his friends, but nobody seemed to have heard anything. Thank Merlin. He turned his attention back to the Gryffindor table. This time, Ron captured his attention. The ginger boy looked, well, he looked as pissed off as Draco did. Jaw and fists clenched, leg shaking, a glare on his face full of hatred. Was he… jealous? Oh. Draco shook his head, smirking. How could he have not seen it? The weasel was madly in love with Granger. 

“Oi Draco!”

Blaise’s harsh voice dragged Draco from his thoughts.

“Why in Merlin’s name you staring at Weasley? If you’ve gone queer then don’t go for a ginger.”

Obnoxious laughter filled the table. Harry would never laugh like that. Harry had a genuine laugh, not mean. Not like his so-called “friends”. This. This was it. This was precisely why he couldn’t tell them. But, for Harry, he wouldn’t care. If only he could get harry, then none of it would matter. And then it came to him. Ron. He wouldn’t like it, of course he wasn’t, but if his plan was going to work then he was going to have to do it. Draco Malfoy was going to team up with Ron Weasley. 

And they were going to destroy the relationship between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco approaches Ron about his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so I haven't kept to my twice a month thing but i've written a few chapters in advance now, so they should come more regularly. Enjoy!

Ron’s ears were tinged with pink, as he strode down the corridor. He was royally pissed off after spending a study period with Neville, after Harry and Hermione were a no-show. The trio were becoming more and more distant from each other, or more accurately, from Ron. After attempting to explain how to do the most simple transfiguration spell in the book to Longbottom for the 10th time, he had finally got up from the table and left in a silent rage. He needed some time to think. Turning left, he began to head up to the Gryffindor common room, when a loud creak signified that the stone stairs were shifting. They finally lodged into the Slytherin common room entrance.

“Bollocks,” Ron was going to have to walk all the way round the side of the building now, and he would probably see a professor, who would bust him for being out of study- thump.

“Merlin Weasley, watch where you’re going.” 

Draco Malfoy stood, cocky as ever the arrogant bastard, leaning against the door of his house’s common room. Ron rolled his eyes.

“What do you want Malfoy? Don’t you and your friends have some puppy torturing to do?”

Draco let out one short harsh laugh, more of a bark really.

“You’re funny, you know. Hilarious in fact.”

Ron began to retaliate but then noticed the lack of mockery on the blonde boy’s face, his steely grey eyes staying serious.

“Um… thanks, I guess,” Ron replied, slightly embarrassed but mostly just confused as to why Malfoy had just complimented him.

“Right,” Draco said, clapping his hands together, “Now that I have complimented you, you are in debt to me, and are inclined to do me a favour.”

Ron rolled his eyes, “You wish Malfoy,” he turned to stride off, but a strong hand grabbed the ginger boy’s wrist, and he was whipped round to face Malfoy again. There was an expression that Ron had never seen in the other boy’s eyes – guilt? No, it wasn’t that. It was pleading. Whatever this favour was, it really meant something to him…

Oh well, what had the pompous prick ever done for him? Glaring back, he replied, “Go ask one of your Slytherin cronies for the favour Malfoy for Merlin’s sake, stop bothering me and PISS OFF!”

Ok, so maybe there was a little misdirected anger in that outburst but what was it to do with him? Surely Malfoy could deal with this thing on his own, and Ron had almost turned the corner, ready to go and deal with his own problems, when Malfoy uttered one word, so filled with meaning that he couldn’t help but stop.

. . . . .

“Please.”

Draco’s voice broke as he said this, which was more than a little embarrassing for the boy whose whole reputation was based on his strong, cocky attitude. Oh well, it seemed to be effective in stopping Ron dead in his tracks.

“Weas- Ron. Please. You have to help me.”

Ron turned his head and a wave of relief washed over Draco. He had almost lost him their, and before he had even revealed his master plan. Rolling his eyes slightly, Ron started walking back to Draco.

“This better bloody well be good Malfoy, or I swear to-“

“Oh Weasley, if anything, you’ll be better of than me after this little favour I need. You see, you will gain two very useful things from this.”

“Do tell.” There was sarcasm in Ron’s voice, but Draco could tell he was intrigued.

“Number one, a piece of information about the sex god of the school, exhibit A.” Malfoy gestured to himself and the other boy rolled his eyes.

“And two, more importantly, the girl you love.”

Ron began to protest at this, spluttering and carrying on but Draco, now in control of the situation and feeling more at ease because of this, lifted one hand to stop him.

“Oh cut it out Weasley, you can drop the act. I’ve seen the way you look at her, you want her, you can’t get her though, but with my plan, you could. I swear, you just have to trust me. Ron.”

. . . . . 

Ron’s head span. How did he know? Why did he want to help me? What’s this plan? But the predominant thought that ran around his head was; he could get Hermione. Was Draco serious about this? Well, it was worth a try, anything was worth a try for Hermione. His sweet, precious Hermione. Ron took a deep breath.

“Ok, I’ll do it”

The blonde’s face visibly relaxed in relief. This favour, whatever it was, was obviously very important to him.  
“So, what’s the-“

“OI!” 

“DRACO!”

“WHAT YOU DOING WITH YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND?”

Obnoxious laughter.

Draco laughed weakly at his friends and looked at Ron, a slightly apologetic look on his face.

“Oh, the Weasel was hanging round the common room, so I, y’ know taught him a lesson.” 

Stepping in front of Ron, Draco held a note behind his back, and Ron took it. 

“Get out of here ginger.”

“Now.”

Ron turned sharply on his heel, and waited until he was back in the common room to open the note. Scrawled in green ink was:

The Astrology Tower. Midnight. Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding Sherlock into the story now :D WARNING: SMUT

“John.”

“John?”

“John.”

“John?”

“John!”

“Jooohn?”

“John!”

John slammed his laptop down. 

“What?”

“I’m bored.”

John huffed and turned back to his laptop, but then out of the corner of his eye saw the bullet holes in the wall and remembered that a bored Sherlock was a destructive Sherlock. He swiveled on his desk hair back to face the man. The man tat could infuriate him so much, but he could never stay angry at. The man who could make him want to kill himself he was so annoyed, but would die in a heartbeat for. The man who was so cold, and could never love, but Johhn loved with all of his heart. More than he would ever – could ever admit. 

“John? Are you even listening?”

John was wandering. Lost in his thoughts about Sherlock, this was a common occurrence now.

“Sorry, what?’

“I said I wanted to revisit the station case. Of the disappearing people?”

John gave him a blank look.

“Oh do try to keep up John, it was only a few months ago.”

“Oh the one on King’s cross? Why that? I thought it was deemed unsolvable by the all knowing one?”

Sherlock didn’t notice this backhanded comment. Or at least he seemed not to.

“Yes it was, but I didn’t solve it, and that annoys me, and when I’m bored, things that annoy me come back to me and I need to solve it now so can you please, for once in your life, just BLOODY WELL CO-OPERATE JOHN?”

There was a stunned silence. Sherlock was an aggravating git, there was no denying it, and he would always anger John, but he would never ever, outburst like that. John had seen Sherlock angry only a few times and when this rare occurrence came into place, the detective would either sulk on the sofa in his mind palace for days on end, or run off for a week or so, god knows where he went. 

Right then, Sherlock’s porcelain skin was whiter than ever, and his hands were covering his mouth, eyes wide in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights. John stood up from his desk slowly, the sound of the chair filling the silence of the room, ricocheting off the walls, making both men wince. Like he was approaching a wild animal he wanted to tame, John walked toward Sherlock carefully, sitting down next to him. Sherlock had lowered his hands from his mouth, but then stayed, perfectly still, eyes wide in shock, as white as a sheet. John reached out a hand tentatively, and touched his best friend on the shoulder. This tiny amount of contact shot sparks through his body, from his fingertips to the tip of his toes. A warm feeling started stirring in the bottom of his stomach; he was starting to get hard just from this gentle touch, but John had to push that down, he could take care of it later, right now he had to take care of his friend.

. . . . .

“Sh… Sherlock, are you alright?”

Shit.

Sherlock Holmes did not swear, at least not out loud, but if he did, this would have been one of those times.

“Sherlock?”

The dark haired detective blinked twice and looked at John, studying his face; his hair, his eyes, his lips. What Sherlock Holmes would have done to feel those lips on his, to looking into those blue eyes, hands entangled in hair, as their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm…

Shit

He’d been looking at John for far too long now, and the older man looked even more confused. He looked down at John’s hand on his arm, and the electricity was too much. In one swift motion he stood up, brushed John’s off and strode toward his bedroom. He didn’t look back, probably because he was too afraid to see that John didn’t look that disappointed. He sat down on his bed and inhaled deeply. What the hell was that? Why had he just snapped so violently at John? Well, he knew why; because John had been ignoring him, and to be perfectly honest, every time John did that, it killed him inside a little. He got that he could be annoying, and boring to listen to, but it just hurt to know that John didn’t feel the same way, and all of those pent up emotions had slowly built up, and come out in an angry outburst.

He needed to stop thinking about this. He needed to escape the thoughts about John – these feelings; they were all becoming far too real. He needed to enter his mind palace. Shutting his eyes, Sherlock went to who always calmed him down. Suddenly he was a child again, sitting on the floor, as his Redbeard played excitedly around his lap. He looked up to see someone walking towards him in the distance, John.

No

John was not going to interrupt these thoughts. These were his escape. Furrowing his brow, Sherlock attempted to push the army doctor out of his mind, but the figure in the distance only grew closer, until he stood not three inches away. Suddenly they both began to move towards each other, eyes locked, leaning in for a kiss, and they were centimeters away, their lips almost touching. 

“Sherlock?”

A gentle voice emerged from the doorway, and John stood there. Sherlock licked his lips; feeling almost guilty for his previous thoughts although he knew there was no way John could see what he had just been doing, well, thinking.

“Can I come in?”

. . . . .

John looked at Sherlock, sitting bolt upright on his bed, and his heart did a little dance of pity, of love. 

Sherlock smiled awkwardly, signifying that he was allowed to enter. John sat down on his best friend’s bed, and just this action, just the thought of them on the same bed, although perhaps not how he would often fantasize, turned him on more than a little.

“What’s going on Sherlock?” John asked with uncertainty. He placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee, inwardly jolting at the contact, but he couldn’t let his mind drift to his fantasies, not when his friend was so obviously in need.

“John, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you like that, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m just-“

“Look, Sherlock, I don’t mind, really. It’s just, you don’t often – well, ever outburst like that so there’s clearly something up. You can tell me.” John shifted closer to Sherlock on the bed, and as a result, his hand moved from the other man’s knee to his thigh. Both their breathing hitched, but not enough for the other to notice. The pair were facing each other now, John’s hand still dangerously far up Sherlock’s thigh.  
“John.”

“Yes?”

“What would you say if I said I wanted to kiss you? Right now.”

John’s eyes widened, realising what Sherlock was asking. Did he… feel the same way? No. Impossible. He was Sherlock. 

But then why had he just asked him that? He probably is just feeling down, looking for some connection and comfort.

“Look John, sorry, forget I asked.” Sherlock threw his hands in the air halfheartedly, more of a grimace on his face than a smile – “I was only joking! Just trying to light-“

Oh sod it.

John smashed his lips onto Sherlock’s, grabbing him roughly by the collar with one hand, and putting the other round his back, drawing the detective in closer. Sherlock made a startled noise at first, and there was an awkward moment of stillness, until their mouths started to move together, and oh it was perfect, more perfect than John could have ever imagined. 

Sherlock began to grow in confidence, grabbing John’s hair and pulling him closer. John sat up on his knees, and began to straddle Sherlock, nudging a space between those long legs and fitting his knee between them.

. . . . . 

This was happening.

This was really happening. 

Somehow John’s knee was pressing against Sherlock’s crotch, making him even harder, if that was possible. John broke the kiss, just to push him down roughly on the bed, and he almost whined at the loss of contact. Pulling the blonde man towards him, their lips collided yet again, and now there wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies, both men achingly hard. He was conscious of John’s hand drifting down his body, pressing hard on a spot on his lower back that made Sherlock moan. John smiled against his lips, and moved his hand around Sherlock’s hips, stroking his inner thigh. The detective was squirming under his touch, grabbing John’s hair tighter. 

Suddenly John was palming Sherlock through his trousers, and Sherlock realised:

John is touching my cock.

This is happening too fast.  
No, you’ve wanted this for years, you will not back out now.

But John’s fingers were in his waistband now, pulling down Sherlock’s trousers slowly, and it was too much. Sitting up and breaking contact with John he swiftly got up off the bed. John looked hurt, confused. Trying to look cheery and pretending that the most intense, hot make out session he had ever experienced had not happened, Sherlock clapped his hands together.

“So, John, the train case? I’ll see you in 10 minutes and we can leave then. I just need to uh – get dressed.”

“Um… ok. Me too.” John said, stumbling out of the bedroom, confused. 

But they only had to look at each other’s tented trousers to know that they would be doing something other than getting dressed.

. . . . .

John had no idea what had happened in Sherlock’s brain in there, but he sure as hell wasn’t happy about it. His whole body was covered in a coat of sweat, and he was boiling hot, so John jumped into the shower. He turned the water to a much lower temperature than usual, and the coolness of the water hitting his skin jolted him into reality.

He had just kissed Sherlock Holmes.

And it would have gone so much further than that.

What would happen now? Would everything just go back to normal?

Right now, he didn’t want to think about these, he needed to attend to the more pressing problem at hand – his cock was achingly hard.

Closing his eyes, John pictured Sherlock squirming underneath him as John brushed the inside of his thigh.

The sound of the moan as John pushed all of the right places.

John began stroking his cock.

How Sherlock’s mouth tasted.

John placed one hand on the wall of the shower, the other desperately pumping, frantic for release. John’s breathing quickened, became uneven and ragged. 

Finally, whispering Sherlock’s name, John came. Shuddering all over, the blond man saw stars as he rode out his spectacular orgasm. Smiling slightly, John got dressed and made his way to the living room, waiting for Sherlock to emerge from his bedroom.

 

It took a while.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Sherlock didn’t dare look John in the eye as they rode from Baker Street to King’s Cross. He didn’t even want to think about what John thought of him, and right now he just had to focus on the case at hand.

But John…

How did he appear in Sherlock’s mind palace?

This thought make Sherlock sit up and really think. How did John get into his mind palace? Sherlock had always had complete and utter control over his mind when he went there – in fact, it was the only place he did have complete control of his brain – for god’s sake it was only place he could escape thinking about his damned roommate! 

Ok, ok… the case. Think Sherlock THINK!

Sherlock jolted in his seat and John looked up from his newspaper, the concern in his eyes was heart melting.

“Sherlock? You alright?”

The detective looked down into his hands, which were clasped in his lap, gripping so tight that his knuckles were white.

“Yeah, fine.”

John didn’t look very convinced but turned back to his newspaper. For the rest of the train journey however, Sherlock was hyper aware of John stealing glances at him.

. . . . .

6 MONTHS AGO

“Right then,”

Sherlock was in his element, waving his hands around, brow furrowed as he concentrated, brain obviously buzzing with possibilities of explanations to the mysterious case.

John was leaning against a column between platform 9 and 10 in the station of Kings Cross, watching fondly as his best friend, almost manic, mapped out the situation in his head.

“So, a man comes here, to this very platform, one Thursday evening to catch the 9:26 train to Weymouth, when he disappears. A kidnapping? A murder? No. There was absolutely no way of escaping the platform, no record of him leaving through any of the ticket barriers – but there is a record of him entering onto the platform. So, how did he escape?”

John thought for a moment,

“Well, he could have escaped along the tracks and-“

“No John, no, because you see, Mr. Matthews was late for his train, in fact, it was already in the station when he arrived, meaning that he could not have escaped along the tracks, and there was no footage of him getting on the train in any way.”

“What if he was on top of the train?”

“No, the gap between the train and the exit from the platform is too small, he would have been crushed. Besides, he was going to a business meeting in Weymouth, he had no reason to have left the station suspiciously, and the footage doesn’t show him-‘

“Hang on, hang on – what exactly does the footage show then?”

Sherlock’s mouth stretched into a wide grin, obviously excited about this.

“Ah, my dear John, this is where it get’s interesting; you see, on the cameras, one minute the man is there, and the next he is not.”

“Well that’s impossible!”

“No, John, there is always an explanation, nothing is ever impossible.”

 

PRESENT DAY

Sherlock was awkwardly standing in the middle of platform 9 and 10, with none of the usual dynamics of how he would usually act on a case, and especially on one this interesting. Sherlock was evidently majorly distracted, and there were no prizes for guessing by what. John had had enough, just one morning of this awkwardness between the pair was enough to drive him insane, and he knew that the longer that they tiptoed around what had happened, the more awkward it would become.

“Sherlock.”

No reply.

“Sherlock we need to talk about this morning.”

“John help me measure the length between where Matthews was standing and-“

“Sherlock we need to talk about it right now.”

“Look John, I’m sorry I did what I did, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

John stepped forward, towards Sherlock.

“Are you sure? That you didn’t know what you were thinking?”

A few steps closer; they were only a few inches from each other now.

“Y… yes?”

This was more of a question than a statement.

“Because… I know what I was thinking, and let me tell you, if you hadn’t pushed me off, oh, the things I would have done-“

John was cut off by Sherlock grabbing his collar. Their lips collided, and Sherlock’s hands wandered down to rest on John’s hips. John wrapped his arms round Sherlock’s shoulders, one gripping his neck, the other entangled in his dark, curly hair. They broke for air, and stood, foreheads touching, both staring into each other’s eyes. Suddenly John swung Sherlock round and slammed him against the wall, deepening the kiss, pressing his body to Sherlock like contact with this man was a drug, and he was heavily addicted. 

Suddenly John became very conscious of the fact that they were lying on the floor, after just doing some very intense making out in public. He pushed Sherlock off violently, and then winced at his wounded expression.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “It’s just, you know – people around, on the floor.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding, and John noticed that there were in fact no people around. 

Huh, that’s strange; he could have sworn that the station was packed. And, in fact, he could have sworn that the station looked very different, and – how did they get on the floor, they were leaning against a wall!

John looked around, more frantically now. A sign caught his eye, it read: PLATFORM 9 & ¾. His head whipped round to Sherlock, who was also gazing at their surroundings.

“Sherlock?”

The detective turned his head and there was panic in his eyes.

“Where the hell are we?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re gay?” Ron asked incredulously. Draco felt his face flush, and scratched his neck, looking down at the floor. Why was he so embarrassed – this was only the weasel for Merlin’s sake!

“You’re gay?” Ron asked incredulously. Draco felt his face flush, and scratched his neck, looking down at the floor. Why was he so embarrassed – this was only the weasel for Merlin’s sake!

“Yeah – got a problem with that Weasley?”

A smirk fell upon Draco’s face as Ron spluttered and stuttered, trying to come up with an answer – “No, I – of course not! It’s just you,” Ron gestured to all of Draco, “You’re the…” He trailed off.

“I’m the what? The sex god of Hogwarts? Every girl loves me? Why, you jealous Weasley?”

Now it was Ron’s turn to go red. “You know what I mean Malfoy, I was just surprised, and that’s all.”

“Whatever, ginger, you gonna help me or what?” Draco already knew the answer – it was clear that Ron felt the same way about Hermione as he did about Harry.”

Ron thought for a moment before saying – “Tell me the plan.”

“No – you need to agree first, I’m not having you backing out of this Weasley.”

A fleeting look of worry crossed Ron’s face and Draco began to panic. He was losing his interest.

“Look, I can promise you Granger – really.”

Ron took a deep breath and held his hand out, daring to look Draco in the eye. 

“Alright Malfoy – your on.”

The blonde boy smirked – “It’s not a bet Weasley.”

“I don’t know what it is yet. Speaking of which – are you going to let me know what I’ve just got myself involved in anytime soon?”

Ron raised his eyebrows, expectantly. 

“Yes, I suppose I ought to sometime soon…” Draco twiddled his thumbs idly.

“Malfoy I’m warning you… if your going to be an arse all this-“

“Alright, alright! Don’t get your knickers in a twist. So,”

Suddenly Draco realized what he was about to do; he was about to reveal his crush, his lifelong dream to someone. And none other than his best friend himself! Crap. He had to back out of this – what had he been thinking? Oh Merlin.

“Um, you know what, Ron. It… Its stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking I…”

Malfoy was still spluttering, trying to make up an excuse for leaving when he began to back away from Ron, towards the door.

. . . . .

Wow. This thing, whatever the hell it was, meant more to Malfoy than he was letting on, Ron thought. Looking at the blonde boy, robes ruffled, sweating slightly, eyes darting, jumping at every sound, you could tell that it was ripping him apart, and had been for sometime.

And so, for the second time that day, Ron found himself taking pity on the blonde boy whom he had hated for so long. He walked forward and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. 

“Draco. It’s OK.”

Draco’s face fell, and a he looked down.

“What is it Draco? What do you need?”

“I… Well I”

Suddenly it clicked. 

Why would Draco come to him, and tell him, of all people, this deeply personal secret. Draco was obviously trying to get to someone, and who else? Ron felt a pang in his chest of pity for Draco – it was Harry, it had to be Harry. 

“Oh Draco,”

“It’s fine, I just, I need to-“

Draco’s face fell.

“You know.”

“It wasn’t exactly difficult to work out, I mean, why else would you come to me? But, Harry, he likes-“

“I know, bloody Hermione and her fuc-“

“Alright. No need to explode, none of this is her fault, and,” a cheeky grin spread across his freckled face “Anyway, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to break the two of them up, it’s just… how?”

“Well, the only thing that comes close to being as strong as love is hate, so we need to make them hate each other, any chance you get, destroy them.”  
“I hate to rain on your parade, but Draco… um…” Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Harry isn’t, you know, into… boys.”

“Oh,” Ron was almost relieved to see the cocky smile back on his rivals face, “I can be quite persuasive you know Weasley.”

“Your going to…? No, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t what, seduce the great Harry Potter?”

And with that, Malfoy turned on his heel, leaving Ron standing in the moonlight, grinning despite himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fudge gestured to Filch, who limped into the room next door, before ushering out two men, who did, indeed, look like lost sheep.
> 
> One was tall, with a face that looked like it had been chiseled out of stone, alabaster white skin and a lean body. The other was a grey-blond, short but well built, with a set jaw and a determined look in his eyes.

Cornelius Fudge paced up and down Dumbledore’s office, his face an alarming shade of purple.

“No, it’s impossible, we fixed it, I’m sure of it!”

“Well,” said McGonagall, “It evidently is not fixed considering the two muggles wondering around like lost sheep on platform 9 and ¾!”

“But after the man fell through, earlier this year, we put a binding spell on it, nothing can break that! Unless…”

“Unless they have magic themselves! Or something similar.”

“Minerva, we can’t just wipe these people memories and be done with it, they have lives, families!”

“Well where are these people? Still at the platform?”

Fudge gestured to Filch, who limped into the room next door, before ushering out two men, who did, indeed, look like lost sheep.

One was tall, with a face that looked like it had been chiseled out of stone, alabaster white skin and a lean body. The other was a grey-blond, short but well built, with a set jaw and a determined look in his eyes. The taller appeared to be staring at McGonagall, not in a rude way, just observing. Her lips pursed. 

“May I help you, Mr. Holmes is it?” She asked in a reserved voice.

“Tell me, how was your train ride back from London professor? And your bacon sandwich was enjoyable I presume? And St James’s church, lovely at this time of year, although I didn’t have you down as religious I must say.”

Dumbledore’s head whipped round and McGonagall’s eyes widened.

“Albus!” She whispered in an angry voice, “That trip was secret! I told you about it in the strictest confidence!”

Dumbledore looked from McGonagall, to Sherlock, to McGonagall again. “Minerva, I told hi nothing – why would I lie?”

“Then how can he possibly know?”

The shorter man looked at Sherlock, almost as if he were waiting for something. The taller said nothing. Dr Watson coughed. 

“I-It’s the leaflet, isn’t it Sherlock?” He seemed eager to impress. Sherlock looked proudly at John, smiling warmly. They stared at each other. And they kept staring.

“If I may interject,” said Fudge, “But what on earth are you talking about?”

“Yes,” agreed McGonagall, “How did you know?”

“It’s evident,” replied Sherlock breezily, “As my good friend Dr. Watson mentioned, the leaflet. It is stuck inside your jacket pocket, and it’s from King’s Cross, the map of the station, you weren’t sure where to go, so you asked for a map. After finally finding your platform, you decided to hang around a while, see what the real platform, was like, wait for your train, and you got peckish. Now, I get the train from that station everyday, I know the menu of the café inside and out, but, you are clearly not familiar with normal ideals, and therefore food in this world, my world. So, seeing the biggest, most advertised thing upon that menu, the bacon sandwich, you chose that, not wanting to seem out of place. How do I know you ate in the first place? You spilled some ketchup on your robe, and the only item of food that that particular café happens to serve with tomato ketchup is…?”

John laughed. “The bacon sandwich!”

Fudge’s mouth dropped.

“Ok,” said McGonagall, “What about the church?”

“The bottom of your shoe, a leaf. But not just any leaf, the leaf of an Indian Bean tree, rare, so rare that it is the only one in London. It has a very distinct leaf, you see, easy enough to recognize from the back of a shoe, when it was picked up when you were walking along the path, into the church itself, one clung to the bottom of your shoe, not an uncommon occurrence in the slightest, you see professor, you see but you simply do not observe.”

“Filch,” said Dumbledore, “Prepare these men a room, they are clearly no ordinary muggles.”

“Wait,” said John, “Professor Dumbledore is it?”

“Please, call me Albus,”

“Has this ever happened before? Whatever has happened to us?”

“Once, around six months ago, a man, Brian Matthews. We never found him.”

John and Sherlock looked at each other. John and Sherlock smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big doors once again flew open .A slim tall man in a dark coat, which contrasted his milky white skin and grazed his defined jawline, strode to the front of the hall towards Dumbledore. The man that followed was much shorter, and stocky.

Harry rubbed his eyes as the loud ringing bell sounded. It was half past seven and they were going to be late for breakfast if they didn’t hurry up. He chucked a pillow to the bed beside him and a large groan sounded as Ron’s mop of red hair rose from the covers. 

“Ugh what time is it?” he mumbled.

“7:30 but I expect you’re shattered, considering you disappeared in the middle of the night for hours.”

Ron tried to keep an innocent face but his ears were tinged with pink.

“I- I…”

“Don’t try to trick me Ron, it may as well have been a herd of elephants stomping their way round my bed. Ask Seamus, he woke up too.”

Ron said something about sleepwalking and managed to shut Harry up, but he still didn’t look very convinced. The two of them stumbled their way through getting dressed, and rushed downstairs. They burst into the great hall, and shot over to the table where Hermione was sitting, robes flying behind them. As Ron sat, he briefly locked eyes with Malfoy, but looked away, before anyone could notice. Hermione was very observant and she didn’t want her getting suspicious.

When Harry slid into his seat a grinning Hermione greeted him. Her whole face was glowing, eyes lit up, hair shining. Merlin only knew how she managed to look so bloody perfect at this ungodly hour. She hugged Harry; her hand snaked around his waist. Thinking vicious thoughts at this, Ron stole another glance at the Slytherin table. Whilst all of the others appeared to be yelling at some poor first year, Draco was looking directly at Harry and Hermione, with the same look on his face as Ron’s. Disgust. Distaste. But most of all of jealousy. 

The big doors once again flew open, and Ron, Harry and Hermione didn’t even look up. It was probably just Neville having lost track of time again. But when the whole hall fell silent, everybody’s mouth agape, they craned their heads to see who was causing all of the attention.

A slim tall man in a dark coat, which contrasted his milky white skin and grazed his defined jawline, strode to the front of the hall towards Dumbledore. The man that followed was much shorter, and stocky. His blonde hair flopped into his face as he scampered after the dark haired man, looking around in an astonished way rather reminding Ron of a lost rabbit.

The silence must have lasted no more than 5 seconds before mayhem broke out. Students yelling rumors about new professors across the room, people knocking food over to get a better look at the strange pair. Finally, Dumbledore rose. 

All students had quieted down at this simple act, and everyone fell silent once more when the headmaster put his hand up.   
“Please,” Dumbledore said, “We have not raised students at this school to gossip and rumor, and we were not raised ourselves to withhold truth. So I should tell you who these men are. This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson,” Dumbledore took a breath knowing that the next statement would wreck havoc again, “They are muggles, who have only just discovered the wizarding world. They fell through the barrier between the two stations. This is not the first time that this has happened.”

This resulted in what seemed like endless noise, mostly comprised of booing from the Slytherin tables.

. . . . .

Draco waited, fiddling with a quill and tapping his feet impatiently. Ron was late, and he only had 15 minutes for their next bout of scheming before his friends got suspicious. Suddenly two people turned the corner. Draco’s face scrunched up in disgust. The filthy muggles from breakfast. As they walked past, Draco called out,

“Nobody wants you her you know. You shouldn’t be here, you’re muggles. They should just wipe your memory like anyone else.”

This seemed to disgruntle the shortest of the pair, which made Draco smile internally, however, the tall dark man seemed to smirk, a smirk not unlike his own. 

“Ah yes, Draco, is it?”

“Don’t use my name muggle, you don’t know anything about me.”

“Really? Is that so?”

The blonde man rolled his eyes and Draco jutted his chin out obstinately.

“Yes.”

“Well, I know that you are distant from most of your family, you have had complicated relations with one of them. Your father most likely, you are probably too alike. I know that you recently ate bacon with tomato and hash browns, and, more importantly, you are seeing someone in secret. Probably someone you’re in love with?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“No,” said Sherlock, his eyes lighting up, “It’s someone you don’t like, but need, to get your way – although you are secretly in love with someone. And hiding something. Something important, most likely your sexuality – hiding something like that? You clearly have a reputation to uphold, people admire you, but you don’t see it as a blessing, you see it as a curse, and resent those who worship you for it. And, my dear boy, it is a curse. A complete and utter-“

“Sherlock,” the shorter man coughed. “He’s 16.”

“Ah, yes, that.” Sherlock gave Draco a huge sarcastic smile. “Have a lovely day Mr. Malfoy.”

As Sherlock strode away, followed by John scurrying after him, Draco’s mouth dropped and he rubbed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I hope you like it - trying to get out 2-3 chapters a month (maybe 1 a week!?)
> 
> Btw don"t worry there will be smut soon yay
> 
> PLEASE DONT HATE ME FOR SPELLING AND GRAMMAR AND COMMENT NICELY (:(:(:


End file.
